


Under the Mistletoe

by ArabellaFaith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:55:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaFaith/pseuds/ArabellaFaith
Summary: What happens when Hermione gets caught under a mistletoe with Viktor after her fight with Ron at the Yule Ball?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [underthemistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/underthemistletoe) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> What happens when Hermione gets trapped under a mistletoe with Viktor after her fight with Ron at the Yule Ball?

_Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing._

 

**Under the Mistletoe**

 

Christmas 1994

 

It was supposed to have been Ron. I knew it, and I thought he did, too. But he'd apparently been far more thick than I'd anticipated, and now it was Viktor I was standing under the mistletoe with. I was too young for anything to happen between us, really. He wasn't that much older than I, and in maturity levels we were perhaps better matched than myself and Ron at the moment, but nevertheless, I was too young for any more than a kiss.

 

But what a kiss it turned out to be.

 

One of the things I'd appreciated about him, aside from the fact that he seemed to notice me as a _female_ unlike my erstwhile friends, was that he had such a physical presence. Yes, Ron was brawny and Harry could be imposing, but next to Viktor, neither of them could possibly measure up. And he put every ounce of that physicality into the kiss. It wasn't lewd, but I still felt as if every inch of me was consumed by him. His tongue gently brushed along my lips, his enormous hands cradled my face and the base of my spine. He swallowed me up, and for the first time in my life, I reveled in the surrender of it.

 

When we broke apart, the rest of the ball continued on as if nothing had happened. As if a whole new world of possibility hadn't just opened up before me.

 

 

Christmas 1998

 

I had expected Christmas to be a more somber event. So many families had been culled in the war, so many loved ones missing from the festivities. And maybe, if we had all tried to go our separate ways for the holiday, it would have been. But nearly everyone had been badgered, bribed, or otherwise coerced into attending the Ministry hosted Christmas gala.

 

This time, I knew it wasn't supposed to be Ron. He knew it, too, and we were both grateful. So I was more surprised than anyone that I was caught under the mistletoe at all, let alone with Viktor once again. We were both older and wiser, but the kiss hadn't changed. I still felt just as enthralled, just as consumed. Ginny cleared her throat behind us and we split apart sheepishly. She grinned at us and then tugged Harry under the mistletoe to steal a kiss of her own.

 

Maybe it was because we both knew the chemistry between us was unique, maybe because we were seeking any sort of comfort we could find on that night, but we stayed close to each others' sides by some mutual, unspoken agreement. By the time the gala was drawing to a close, we were holding hands. Still, neither of us had said why, or what it meant. Just that small physical connection was enough.

 

It was everything.

 

 

Christmas 2000

 

The plan had been to spend Christmas in Bulgaria with Viktor's family. We had spent the last one with my patchwork family, so it was only fair. But after just one day in Bulgaria, we returned to the UK. He didn't explain, despite my numerous questions. Christmas Eve was spent at the Burrow with all my loved ones surrounding us. And then Christmas Day, it was just the two of us, sitting in our little flat, watching the fire cast shadows across the glittering Christmas tree. Viktor opened a bottle of champagne, and after we toasted, he made an elaborate gesture with his fingers and preformed the only wandless magic I'd ever seen him do. 

 

A spring of mistletoe blossomed over our heads. It spun slowly, suspended in the air above us. I laughed in delight, reaching out to try and pull him in for a kiss. He shook his head, then sank to one knee before me. I gasped. From his pocket he withdrew a small velvet box.

 

“Her-mi-ohnee,” he whispered in an accent that had barely been tempered by two years of living in England, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

 

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would spring from my chest and leap across the small space between us. I nodded vigorously, unable to form a single coherent word. He slipped the ring onto my finger and I threw my arms around his broad shoulders. With a whoop of joy, he lifted me and spun me around. We kissed, the same all encompassing kiss that had sealed our fates years before. Without setting me down, he made his way to the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind us.

 

 

Christmas 2004

 

Everyone came to our house, as it was the most central. We had plenty of room, and with everyone going their separate ways the following day, it made the most sense. Gifts were exchanged, laughter abounded, and drinks were had by all except the very pregnant Ginny.

 

I watched her more that evening than was probably polite, but for the first time, I felt the tug of what others called 'baby fever.' In the three years since Viktor and I had married, we hadn't once talked about being ready for children. Oh, we both wanted them, someday. We even had a general idea of what names we would use. But with Viktor still at the peak of his Quidditch career and me moving up within the Ministry, it had never seemed like a pressing issue.

 

But watching Ginny rest her hands on her belly, seeing the look of wonder on Harry's face every time he felt the baby kick... it made me  _ache_ . I glanced over at Viktor. He had seen me looking at Ginny, understood what the expression on my face meant. He smiled softly at me and my heart melted. I could suddenly imagine him with a little boy riding on his shoulders and a little girl cradled in his arms. Hearing him read bedtime stories, kissing scraped knees. The future we could have together was crystal clear.

 

The next night, after all the guests had gone, we poured out the last of my contraceptive potion. Then, without him needing to even flick his fingers, mistletoe bloomed over our heads. He pulled me into his strong arms and kissed me. He put every ounce of his love, of his dedication to me and the family we would create, into that kiss.

 

 

Christmas 2006

 

It had come on so quickly. Both a blessing and a curse, I suppose. He hated the weakness, the helplessness. Viktor had always been so formidable. So larger-than-life. Not just his physical presence, thought that was impressive, but his voice, the way it rolled around the room, his aura, which radiated out from him so clearly.

 

It was an unspeakable horror to see those things diminish. To see his muscles atrophy and his voice reduced to hoarse whispers. His presence become little more than a candle flickering.

 

I didn't even know wizards could get such diseases.

 

One day he had been fine, hearty and hale, dominating the Quidditch pitch and sweeping me into his arms with ease. Then suddenly it began to eat away at him. His strength waned. His life began to fade. The healers explained it to us, used sympathetic phrases and gave us an estimate of how much time we had. But it didn't mean anything. How could it? How could those things apply to my husband? The man who had become my whole world, my partner in all things?

 

I thought it must be a terrible dream. A nightmare from which I could not escape. And yet each morning I woke up to the same reality. Viktor was dying. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it. And what seemed like the most bitter irony of all, the life we had been trying for two years to conceive, was growing stronger with every passing day. How could I continue on without him? It was unthinkable, impossible. And yet, that choice had been taken from me. I no longer had the right to follow him beyond the Veil. There was not just my own life to consider.

 

Viktor, incredibly, was the one who held me together. He comforted me, told me how strong I was, how capable. That I could endure anything. I didn't believe him. Each time he held my hand, his grip grew weaker. And each time I felt my will to continue on fade with him.

 

It crept upon us, insidiously stealing pieces of him away in the night. I watched, helpless, as he withered.

 

Christmas dawned cold and grey. The whole world felt bleak. As if all the happiness had been sucked out of it and would never return. And soon, I knew, it really would be. I stayed by his side every moment, absorbing his slowly faltering heat, memorizing every callous on his fingertips, staring into his fathomless eyes and praying to any deity that would listen for just one more day,  _one more hour_ .

 

_One more minute_ .

 

He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. The grip which had once been strong and sure was now fragile. His breath rasped in, weak and shallow. “Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he whispered, forcing the words past pale lips. I looked up and saw his mistletoe blossom above us. I couldn't fathom the effort it must have taken him to form it. I tried to smile, to express my gratitude, anything at all, but it all got caught behind the tears choking me.

 

There had to be more. More Christmases, more time, more  _Viktor_ . But as I watched, the vibrant green and red began to turn dark. His breath drew in short and sharp, then stuttered out. There was a pause, my heart clutched. He took another sharp breath. The mistletoe collapsed in on itself, turning to ash. His breath escaped in a low rattle. I froze, dread icing my veins.

 

_One more moment. Please dear god just one more moment._

 

The ash of the mistletoe scattered down on us like black snow. There was no more sound. No more movement. A sob echoed around the empty room and I dimly realized it was my own. The tears that had been burning in my eyes fell unchecked. I pressed myself closer to him, trying to hold onto him so tightly that he couldn't leave me. Or that he would have to take me with him.

 

Neither of my wishes came true.

 

 

Christmas 2007

 

There are no more tears left to cry. People have tried to come visit, have tried to cheer me up, and I refused them. Can't they understand? I don't  _want_ to be comforted. My heart had been ripped to shreds and would never be whole again. If not for the little boy playing quietly at my feet, I would have followed Viktor a year ago. But for him, I endured. For him, I had put up the tree, strung the lights, wrapped the presents. He wasn't even old enough to understand it, but I had promised Viktor. He'd had faith in me. 

 

I cried all my tears in private, where our son would not see them. But he knows I am desolate. I never could fake happiness very well. The little boy climbs into my lap and snuggles under my chin. I cuddle him close. He will be tall, like his daddy, and just as strong I imagine. Already, his eyes are as dark as Viktor's were, and he has the same special smile, reserved just for me. He pulls away enough to look at me. Each chubby hand goes to my cheeks and he stares into my eyes for a long moment.

 

Slowly, something edges into my vision above us. My breath catches. I look at my son, unable to raise my eyes. He does it for me, lifting my face until I see the mistletoe suspended over our heads. The tears that I thought had run dry suddenly fill my eyes. He giggles, moving one hand from my cheek to reach for the little bloom.

 

“Mama!” He points to it excitedly, not understanding that he has just preformed unintentional magic, not able to know -how could he possibly?- what it means to me. He giggles again and looks back at me, then presses a sloppy kiss to my nose. The tears fall fast and hot, spilling down my cheeks. “Mama?” Now he looks concerned, and the second kiss he gives me is more delicate, little wet lips to my forehead. I take in a shuddering breath, trying to stifle the sob that wants to claw its way from my throat. I don't even know if it would be of happiness or pain.

 

I wrap both arms around my son and hug him close. The mistletoe spins slowly above us. “Happy Christmas, Viktor,” I whisper.

 

 


End file.
